Moaning Liza: Tate & Liza
by Moltke
Summary: A bored Liza. Two inept maintenance men. A famous painting. Liza might not care about the art itself, but she's not going to let a theft ruin her twin's favorite sanctuary. No famous paintings were actually harmed in the making of this one-shot.


**[Insert disclaimer here]  
**

 **That is all.**

* * *

I stepped out of the harsh afternoon sunlight into the museum's cool interior. The hint of mustiness which always clings to old objects was very slight, overpowered by the smell of cheesy fries and the remnants of a flowery perfume. I took a deep breath and let the smile creep across my face.

"Alright, I've been, let's go."

I snagged Liza's arm before she could dive back through the doors. "Thirty minutes. You promised."

She made a raspberry noise and jerked her arm free. "Fine, whatever. Just hurry it up, won't you?"

The peaceful atmosphere, which was one reason this had become my sanctuary from the chaos of Gym Leader life, prevented me getting mad at my twin. "Thirty minutes will be thirty minutes whether we walk fast or slow. Let's sign the guestbook."

"Why? You want a record of me being here?"

I glanced to the side to see her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip protruding. Hopefully the wonders of this place would soon wipe her sour expression clean; I wanted her to, if not find joy in, at least appreciate one of the things I most loved. "A record that I convinced you, sure. But we also have to sign when entering and leaving so they don't lock us in during closing time."

Liza shuddered at the thought.

The glassy marble echoed our footsteps and the high ceiling magnified the whispers of a group of exiting patrons.

"Wotcher, Tate." The security guard stuffed another clump of gooey fries into his mouth. "Tah'd Liz'n'da com'n' now, didja?" I sensed the confusion and disgust swirling on Liza's face as she tried to mentally unstick the cheese-glued words. Luckily, I had had a lot of practice.

"Sure did, and she's going to enjoy it if it kills her. Catch you later, Mac."

He forced down the fries. "Later, Tate."

I tugged my sister to the mahogany desk. The woman stationed behind it glanced up and the skin around her eyes crinkled warmly. "Either I'm seeing double or Tate has finally convinced his twin sister to take in interest in something non-space-related."

"'Interest' is a bit of a stretch," Liza muttered and I elbowed her.

"Liza, this is Mrs. Phillips; Mrs. Phillips, this is Liza." I tugged the leather logbook towards me and flourished my signature on the appropriate line, then handed the implements to my twin. "Brandon's party plan still a secret?"

"My nephew hasn't the slightest idea that there's anything in the works," she confirmed. "It starts almost as soon as I get off work. Oh, and thank you terribly for lending me your Baltoy. Brandon's going to love the zero-gravity experience."

"My pleasure. See you soon." Liza having finished signing, I once again grabbed her arm, this time dragging her to the wall map posted between two hallways. "Alright." I scanned the map for anything that might entice Liza's interest even the slightest.

"How about we go to the history of space flight?" Liza suggested.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "This is an art museum, not a history museum. Let's go to—"

"Over here." Liza started down the right-hand hall so fast that I had to jog to catch up. Something on the map had gotten her excited and I scrambled to remember which exhibits were down this hall.

"Modern Kanto Art?" I quizzed. It figured that she would choose the exhibit with the word 'modern' included.

"Yeah, you can look there if you want. I'll just spend my thirty minutes right...here." She spun around and grinned at me, opening the glass door behind her by leaning against it.

"The gift shop doesn't count." I crossed my arms.

"You never said that beforehand."

"I'm saying it now."

"Doesn't count. You had to say it before."

"Then you forfeit the Elemental cards and chocolate Buneary."

Her eyes widened in horror. "You can't do that! I spend thirty minutes in the museum and you give me the cards and the Buneary. That was our deal!"

"Exactly. In the museum. Looking at exhibits. Gift shop doesn't count."

She scowled. "Does too. I found a loophole fair and square."

I raised my eyebrows. "Then no cards and chocolate."

We both stared at each other and I knew she knew I meant it literally. I also had an advantage: she already ate the chocolate Buneary and didn't yet have the allowance to pay me back. She hated owing me anything.

The gift shop door slammed as she straightened. "Fine. But if the boredom drives me crazy—"

"It won't."

"—and I get locked up in a psych ward—"

"Where you belong anyway."

"—and Mom and Dad die from grief—"

"You give them enough grief."

"—then I'm blaming you." She glared. "Got it?"

"Yes, your majesty." I threw her a sarcastic salute.

"And remember which one of us is older."

"That is entirely debatable."

"Is not!"

"Considering we're identical, yeah, it actually is. What if the doctor mixed us up and I was born first while—"

"Just get on with the tour already!"

* * *

Bored, boring, boredom, boringly boringnessWHY THE HECK DID MY BROTHER HAVE TO LIKE ART OF ALL THINGS? I mean, seriously, was there anything more opposite the scientific testing and research we did at Dad's place than staring at paintings with utterly no purpose at all? Well, no purpose other than to torture older twin sisters who had much better things to be doing with their time. Like that new simulator Dad recently programmed. If _only_ I could be back at the facility buckling myself into the harness and—

"Ah-hem." Tate looked at me impatiently. "It doesn't count if you don't look at the art. Should I reset the timer?"

My heart skipped a beat. No. Anything to avoid spending more time in this dusty old place. "Uh." I stared at the picture hanging in front of me. "Yeah, sure. Lovely. I love it."

He rolled his eyes and I felt my face warm. "Liza, please. You don't have to lie but at least try to have an open mind."

I threw my hands into the air. "An open mind for what? It's a _bowl of fruit_ , Tate. Our teacher was having us draw these in second grade! I mean, the least it could be is a real bowl of fruit because then it would have a _purpose,_ and, I don't know, maybe you could _eat_ it instead of staring uselessly at something that makes you hungry—"

"Liza," he snapped. My ranting stopped, although it had more to do with the stares I was getting from the few other visitors than my little brother's disapproval. He took a deep breath and I noticed with some surprise that the anger disappeared from his gaze. What was up with that? He was almost never this self-controlled. "Look again." He turned me to face the painting. "Look at the shades of color the artist chose, the direction of the brushstrokes. Can you tell what he was feeling at the time?"

"Hungry."

"Liza—"

"This is stupid, Tate. What good is staring at a bunch of dusty old paintings?"

His voice was soft behind me. "That's why."

"Huh?"

"Because it's old and it doesn't have a use."

I blinked and waited for him to explain. When he didn't, I prompted, "Okaaay…?"

He sighed. "Everything that goes on the space shuttle has three different usages and everything you do has to solve a problem. I love it, but sometimes it gets tiring and I want to get as far away from it as possible. Can't get much further than old dusty paintings."

"Oh." My voice sounded small. How could I not have known this about him? We were twins, for crying out loud.

He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Look again," he said firmly. "See how the color pallet leans towards brown and grey? And how the shadows stretch towards the viewer and not away? The artist was in a negative mood, probably sad."

"Yeah, because the fruit he was painting was plastic and he was hungry."

"Liza!"

I shrugged. "Sorry, I just don't see any point to this. I mean, I can see how you like it, but that doesn't mean I have to too." I glanced over my shoulder at him and saw his face twist in a frown.

"Seventeen minutes left. We'll see if I can't change your mind by then."

And the boringness resumed. I tried—I really did—to find a hint of the enjoyment Tate experienced. But art just didn't click with me. Some of it I didn't even know why it was considered _art._ Fuzzy landscapes and portraits of unknown famous people I could kind of understand, but splatter paint? And in what world do red squares and yellow triangles merit space on a museum wall? Was the artist so dumb that mastering simple geometry was a feat worthy of fame? Because, puh-leese, _I_ could do that!

To tell the truth, I had more fun watching two maintenance guys try to change a light bulb than looking at the paintings.

"Lefty loosy, righty ti—no, other way I said!"

"But I was going right!"

"Right is wrong, you want to go left."

"How am I supposed to know which way is which? Does the top turn to the left or the bottom?"

"The whole thing, stupid!"

"Liza."

I blinked and slapped the hand away from my face. "What?"

"This is the last painting, then we can go."

"Really?" I perked up immediately and tried to ignore the disappointment on Tate's face.

"Yep. Thirty minutes are up."

"Let's see it." Gaze at the painting, say a few complimentary things about it, then I would be FREE!

"Right here." He motioned to a yellowish-brown painting of a woman in a box of glass. "The _Mona Lisa_ is a famous painting by Lombrenardo da Vinci, who lived in the latter half of the fifteenth century and early sixteenth. The painting doesn't live here permanently; it's on loan from a larger museum on the mainland—Liza."

"Huh? Oh, sorry." I turned away from the maintenance guys—something about them made me feel funny—and tried to hone in on Tate's lecture. Just a bit longer and I could go. "Yeah, famous guy, sixteen years old when he painted—"

"Sixteenth _century_ , Liza. You weren't listening."

"Sorry, I—" I glanced at the men in grey jumpsuits—what kind of maintenance men didn't know how to change a light bulb?—and made a snap, sacrificial, and utterly instinctive decision. "I'm hungry. Why don't we head to that restaurant by the scribbles?"

"Those aren't scribbles, they're—"

"Yeah, whatever. I'll enjoy the moaning yellow lady more on a full stomach." The mention of coming back to this room brightened my brother significantly.

"Oh. Okay, I'm good with that."

He got a burger, I got two chili dogs, and we got a large side of cheese fries to share. So far, the dining hall was my favorite part of our visit.

"What time does the museum close?" I twirled my fries in ranch and popped them in my mouth. Now I could see—or rather, taste—why the security guy had been eating them on duty. All thoughts of lady-like manners had disappeared after the first one touched my tongue.

"In a little less than an hour," Tate replied.

"And everyone has to be out by then? I mean, the cleaning staff and everything?"

"Pretty much. Cleaning staff come in the morning, security people stay the night, and everything else takes only about fifteen minutes to lock up." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

I shrugged and took another bite of fries to avoid answering. When I had swallowed, I asked, "After that yellow woman, can we check out the second half of that portrait exhibit?"

Tate's eyes lit up in delight, which he quickly tried to conceal. "Yeah. Though you do know that I won't give you any more Elemental cards if you stay longer than agreed, right?"

"No, no. I want to see if there are any more paintings of that, er, guy with the funny nose." I immediately shoved the remainder of the cheesy fries in my mouth to disguise my deception. It was hard to lie to my fellow psychic and twin, but I had long ago discovered a major blind spot in his detection skills. If he wanted to believe a lie, then it was more likely to work.

"Of course!" This time he let the happiness shine freely. "I'll toss this and we can dart over there. Maybe we'll have time for me to show you the _Unnamed_ series after. That's one of my favorites!" As he scooped up the trash, I fought down the sense of guilt. But if I told him my suspicions, he'd guess what I was about to do and I'd _definitely_ get in trouble with Dad. We weren't exactly allowed to sneak peeks into other people's minds. But, if those maintenance men really were up to something shifty…

* * *

I almost couldn't believe it when Liza insisted that we stay longer. Part of me suspected that she was doing this out of a sisterly impulse to make me happy, but she had been so adamant about avoiding the museum in the first place that I couldn't believe it. And she remembered that Sir Aldrich the Yellow had a crooked nose! She had been paying attention after all.

"—and this one—"

"Can we go back to the yellow lady?" Liza asked abruptly. This was the fourth time she had asked to do so in between quick visits to other exhibits.

I grinned at her. "She speaks to you, doesn't she?"

"Huh?"

"The feeling that you're connected to a painting. It's almost as if it includes a part of you. It calls you back and you're powerless to resist. In other words, she speaks to you."

"Uh. Wow, Tate. I mean, that's—you described it exactly."

I bumped her with my elbow. "I knew you'd find one in here."

"Yeah, sure."

We strolled through the hallways, Liza's footsteps increasing speed after Mrs. Phillips gave the ten minute warning.

"It's okay, Liza. We can come back tomorrow to see it." I panted slightly; we were almost at a jog.

"No, I just want one more loo—" The sound of shattering glass caused her to break into a run.

"Liza, wait!" I called, racing after her.

The two of us slid into the Lombrenardo exhibit. "Stop right—oh." Liza stared.

The two maintenance men looked up, one holding a dust pan and the other a broom.

"Sorry 'bout that." One of them grinned. "Butterfinger Smithwick here dropped a bulb. Nothing to worry over."

Smithwick muttered something under his breath and then, in a louder voice, "If _you_ hadn't moved the ladder, Perkins—"

 _"_ _All patrons,"_ Mrs. Phillips's voice came over the loudspeakers, _"the museum is now closed. Please make your way to the exit."_

"Come on, Liza. We can come back tomorrow."

For a second I thought she would argue, but something changed in her eyes and instead she nodded docilely. Leaving the maintenance men behind, we headed towards the exit and found ourselves the last patrons to sign out. I scribbled my name and handed the pen to Liza.

"I hope your nephew has a good time," I said to Mrs. Phillips, who was hastily packing her things in her purse.

"Oh yes," she replied in a breathless manner. "I must hurry, you know, since it starts—thank you, dear," she received the logbook from Liza and put it under the desk, "—starts very soon. In fact—"

"I'm really sorry, but can I run to the bathroom?" Mrs. Phillips and I both glanced at my sister, whose face looked pained. "It just came on all of a sudden, you know, and I don't know if I can hold it."

"Well," Mrs. Phillips hesitated.

"Thank you!" Liza snatched my arm and dashed towards one of the hallways. "I'll only be a minute; you don't need to wait up!"

I waved back at Mrs. Phillips. "Go ahead to your nephew's birthday party. We'll be fine."

"Okay then. See you later, Tate."

We reached the girl's bathroom and I got a jolt when my sister jerked me in with her. "What on earth, Liza? You don't want me to hold your hand like when we were little, do you?"

"What? No!" She stomped her foot. "And for your information, _I_ was the one holding _your_ hand. Anyway—" She stopped, then yanked me into one of the stalls.

"What—?"

"Shh!"

She slapped her hand over my mouth. I fought it off and, in a quieter voice asked, "What's going on?"

"I thought I heard footsteps."

"So? Liza, you better have a really good explan—"

"I think those maintenance men are going to steal the _Moaning Lisa."_

" _Mona Lisa,_ " I corrected. "And why would you—"

"One: They can't change a light bulb. Two: Didn't you see the nametags on their uniforms? Johnson and Brown, not Smithwick and Perkins, which is what they called each other."

"Are you sure that wasn't the name of the company they work for?"

"No, it was their nametags. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Fine," I huffed. "But that's hardly a reason to drag me—"

"I read their minds, okay!"

I stopped midsentence. It took a few seconds to get my tongue working again. "Liza, you know mind reading is a very tricky business—"

"Where your desires influence what you hear and blah-blah I _know_ , Tate! And don't tell me the importance of having a psychic anchor and how mad Dad will be at me and all that, because I don't want to hear it."

"Fine. Tell me what you learned. Were they thinking about their plan?"

She took a deep breath. "Well…not exactly."

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

She gazed at her feet and dragged one toe along the smooth linoleum. It made a squeaking sound. "Well, one of them had this song stuck in his head the whole time—which is one reason I wanted to keep going back, to get something more solid out of him— _but,"_ she stopped me before I could interrupt, "the other was fantasizing about being rich. And they both had bad intentions. I could sense that."

I rolled my eyes. "That could be anything, Liza. Lots of people fantasize about being rich, and the bad intention you sensed was probably you making stuff up. Do you know how much trouble we could get in for hiding in here after-hours and— _wait a second._ You weren't interested in the art at all! This was the whole reason you wanted to stay longer, wasn't it?"

"Tate, I'm sorry, but—"

The realization that my sister had been lying to me hurt. I had thought she had come to appreciate art like I did, but that whole time her true motives included some fantasy about maintenance men stealing paintings. "Stop." I made a slashing motion with my hand and she shut up. "I don't want to hear your excuses, because the truth is that you've been lying to me. This whole time. And I thought that maybe-maybe—"

"Tate!" Liza looked distraught, but I didn't care. If she hadn't strung me along for so long, it wouldn't have been so bad, but she had really convinced me. "Tate, listen to me! The _Mona Lisa_ could be in the process of being stolen right now and we're wasting time arguing. I hurt you, I know, and I'm sorry, okay? But please listen to me, please!"

I turned my back to her, which is hard in a cramped bathroom stall. "What do you want us to do anyway? Call the police?"

"Well…" Don't ask me how I knew, but I could sense Liza biting her lip. "What if we walked by the exhibit, and if everything is fine, we tell the security guard and go?"

"It won't be that easy," I grumbled, knowing we'd likely get in bunches of trouble for staying so late. But if it was that important to her… "Fine. We'll make it fast." I glanced back at her and caught the relieved expression on her face. "But I still don't believe you." Her expression fell. Her voice was soft.

"That's okay."

The two of us exited the stall and inched open the bathroom door, checking the hall was empty before stepping into it.

"Hurry. We don't want to get caught by the security guard doing rounds. I don't know the night-duty guy." It was a wonder he hadn't heard us arguing.

As our footsteps whispered along the hall, I said, "There isn't much of a point of us walking by now, you know. The museum is hardly closed and it's still daylight outside. No thief would be stupid enough to make a move now."

"I know." She glanced at me hopefully. "Can we stake out? 'Cause, like you said—"

For the second time that day, I heard a crash from the Lombrenardo exhibit.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" I exclaimed, Liza released an exultant whoop, and the two of us ran down the hall.

"Hurry! The security guard will be here any—" One of the maintenance men, I didn't know which, stopped and stared when he caught sight of us. The other, in whose hands was the priceless painting, turned around.

"Solrock, stop those thieves with Psychic!"

"Zangoose, Quick Attack!"

 _"_ _Zang!"_ The Cat Ferret Pokémon darted forward and struck my Solrock the second after it solidified.

"Counter with Psywave!"

 _"_ _Sol."_ A diamond ball of light formed in front of my pokemon before transforming into a beam.

 _"_ _Zang!"_ Zangoose flew backwards and knocked over the guy not holding the painting. Meanwhile, my sister called out her Lunatone and ordered,

"Rock Throw!"

 _"_ _Tone."_

"Liza, no!"

But Lunatone had already fired the fist-sized rock.

"Ack!" exclaimed either Smithwick or Perkins and raised the painting. The rock shot through Mona Lisa's head and struck the would-be thief unconscious. "Umph." He tumbled to the ground.

"Solrock!"

 _"_ _Sol."_ Solrock caught the painting with its psychic power before it could fall and be further damaged. I breathed a sigh of relief only when it was resting safely in my arms.

"Oops." Liza gazed at the headless woman. "Um, please don't yell?"

I stared at it, glanced at the unconscious Smithwick and Perkins, and attempted to determine whether our intervention had been in any way helpful. "At least—" I began.

"Security!" A flashlight blazed in our eyes. It lowered enough for me to see the face behind it, and the slowly growing expression of horror. "What-what…?"

"Hi," Liza waved. "We were just stopping thieves and beheading the Moaning Lisa in the process."

* * *

 **Credit for the last line goes to someone IRL.**


End file.
